Blame It on the Super Hero
by Eireish
Summary: Jordan and Woody. A relationship at a standstill.
1. Discovery

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of these characters. I'm just borrowing them and will put them back unharmed.

**Feedback:** Always welcome.

**Blame It on the Super Hero**

**Chapter 1: Discovery**

It wasn't the dead victim that brought it all crashing down around her. It was the one left alive. Four years old. Scared. Hiding in the closet.

The soft whisper caught her attention. It wasn't a clear sound. It wasn't persistent. Later, she would not even know why she heard it – except for the fact that she needed to. Hear it.

The sound came after she gingerly turned the brutalized body of Boston's latest home invasion robbery-turned-murder victim over. After the pictures had been taken. After a long wait for the scene to be adequately processed before she could get to work. Lying underneath the man's body – the lovingly worn, blue clad, red caped, super hero action figure caught her attention… and his attention at the same time. "Superman."

Nigel noticed the toy and snapped more pictures for the file as she rose to investigate the sound she wasn't at all sure she had really heard. When she opened the closet door, he was leaning as far back into the shadows as possible. His blue eyes were large with fear and clouded with distrust. She crouched down to his eye level and tried for what she hoped was a smile. "Hi," she breathed. He continued to stare at her with an unfocused gaze. "My name's Jordan," she tried again. "What's your name?" With no answer forthcoming, she returned to where the battered body rested.

Nigel was finishing with the toy, "Nothing useable, luv," he said handing the action figure up to her.

Again she returned to the closet and knelt, looking into the confused depths of those blue eyes. "Is he yours?" she asked quietly indicating the action figure and was acknowledged with a slight nod. She held the figure out to be taken stealthily by quick little hands.

"Will you come out and talk to me?"

A slight shake of his head answered her question.

"Ah, I see. Did he… did your daddy tell you to stay put?"

A nod answered her.

"Be quiet?"

Another nod.

She now found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the open closet door.

Nigel squatted down beside her and whispered into her ear, and she looked over at the criminalist with an appreciative smile. "Thanks, Nige."

"My friend here tells me your name is Owen."

If possible the little boy's eyes grew wider. It was a few more heart-wrenching minutes before Owen was curled up in her lap, clutching Superman tightly to his chest, as she rocked him slightly, speaking soft words into his ear. She kept their backs to the carnage in an attempt to prevent him from witnessing the work being done to prepare the body to be moved.

It had happened in the middle of the night. His daddy had tried to hide him, and had been successful. His daddy had fought to protect him – the evidence was all around them. And, though his daddy had been successful at that as well, the price had been high – the ultimate price had been paid for the safety of his child.

Jordan was a bit surprised to be left alone to continue her gentle ministrations to the little boy. Apparently the detective in charge was more than willing to let her handle this crime scene… complication.

A feeling of relief flooded through her when Nigel approached her once more to tell her that Owen's grandparents had been contacted and were on their way to pick him up.

She would hand Owen over to people who loved him.

She would go back to the morgue and autopsy the body.

She had a feeling she'd end up having a good cry over this one.

And then things would go on, status quo.

It didn't end up being that simple.

XXXXXXXXX

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud…

_Up before the alarm… great way to start the day. Beautiful… spring… morning. Balmy – not hot… not cold – lukewarm. Perfect day for a run._

The thud, thud, thud of his running shoes against the ground was reassuring in its predictability. Woody found comfort in the repetition and allowed his mind to drift as he traveled the familiar path he had taken so many times in the last few years.

_Tepid… this weather is tepid. Like our relationship_.

Woody mused. Thud, thud, thud… His relationship with Jordan…

_Why is it that so many things in my life come back to her… to us?_

_The past few years our feelings for each other have run the gamut… arctic cold… to lava hot. _

_No… no… not really… _

_Not if I'm honest…_

_Even when I was doing my best to exude that polar chill, I remember watching her… _

_I had to work… hard… to maintain the stoic bad-ass… I-don't-give-a-damn exterior… while my insides burned._

_With her there's always passion… hot or cold… hate or love… _

_But not with me… not with us… not anymore…_

_Hate… I can deal with._

_Love… I think I can deal with._

_It's the tepid, feigned apathy we fell into that… I don't know how to deal with._

_So I backed away._

Thud, thud, thud…

_All I longed for was honesty – right?_

_Wrong…_

_I wasn't really ready to be honest with myself yet. Much less with Jordan._

_Our relationship… appeared unassuming._

_But, uughh, the sexual tension roiled there_

_Unchecked… _

_Unsatiated…_

_Always just beneath the surface._

_I learned to pretend… too well… that it didn't exist…_

_And every once in a while those feelings… intense…_

_Something would happen and they'd explode – always at the most inopportune times… always in the most unfortunate situations._

_Always leaving the potential of what **we** could be to be kicked to the curb and left to die an un-witnessed death._

_Or so I thought... wanted… needed… to believe…_

Thud, thud, thud…

_But those emotions never really went away... no matter… how hard… I tried._

_I ignored them… denied them… despised them._

_But they never truly left… They lay in wait for me... And sprung the trap when I least expected it._

_Those feelings we denied for so long – they finally got the chance – and they burned white-hot… for both of us..._

He fought the stirrings of his body's reaction to the memory of that snowy night at the Lucy Carver Inn and took solace in the steady thud, thud, thud…

… _and scared us both._

_I know that now – we were both scared – each in our own ways. And so we parted as friends…_

_But not nearly as **friendly** as I would have preferred._

_Then came Lu._

Thud, thud, thud…

_The Aussie reporter's murder._

Thud, thud, thud…

_Again fate… scooped us up… shot the dice… one more time._

_We landed on our feet, again a pair – with much too much still churning below the surface._

_After we worked so hard and she was cleared of the Pollack's murder._

_After I walked away from Lu and her vicious attempts to hurt Jordan. Was it to hurt me? Was it to keep me? I'll never know… doesn't matter… _

_After all that – neither one of us was willing to step up to the plate… to show our hand… to make the first move._

_What is it with relationships and sports analogies? Gambling analogies?_

_And so this… dance… continues._

_Dance analogies?_

_We're both moving independently again… could we… should we… turn it into a waltz?_

_At least a s-l-o-w dance… I know we can do that._

Thud, thud, thud…

_I don't want to lose her again. I'll wait – as long as it takes._

_I'll wait… for one more chance, just one._

_If this one doesn't work, I'll walk away… with a clear conscience… no regrets… and not look back._

Again he found himself battling the awakening of his body at the memory of late nights… and slow dances… and a snowy night at a secluded inn… and a dance of a different sort. He had to work harder this time to pull his mind back to concentrate on the solid thud, thud, thud…

_Who am I kidding?_

Thud, thud, thud…

_If one more chance with her doesn't work… I wouldn't really be able to walk away._

_I'd just wait… and hope… for **another** chance._

Thud, thud, thud…

_Pathetic. That's what this is… pathetic._

_This isn't living… what I'm doing now… with nothing settled between us_

_But we both say we've moved on._

_Has she?_

_While I'm really just… existing… day to day…_

_And **proving** to her that I can live without her. _

_I wonder if she's convinced? I wonder if anyone else is?_

Thud, thud, thud…

_Because **I'm** not._

Thud, thud, thud…

_This is ridiculous. I need to get my mind off this._

_A hot shower… ummm… a cold shower._

_The weekend off – a drive. That's it… I'll take a trip out of town. _

Thud, thud, thud…

_I wonder what Littleton Village looks like in the spring…_


	2. Kryptonite

**Blame It on the Super Hero**

**Chapter 2: Kryptonite**

When he gradually inched his way out of the closet she had been surprised. Surprised and relieved. When he climbed into her lap she had been… well… shocked.

She wasn't prepared for what she felt as his small, pajama-clad body snuggled consolatorily against hers. Nor was she prepared for the emotions that rose in her as he relaxed, little by little, and she sensed the fear, the tension leave his vulnerable, slight being.

Standing now in Autopsy One more than a day later, she felt again the sensations of those moments as if her body had memorized them.

_But it was his eyes…_ she reminded herself. She could just get lost in the blue oceans of his eyes. Innocent… open… trusting… bewildered… and… vaguely familiar.

She jerked herself mentally back into the present telling herself that she needed to get this autopsy over, this case closed, this… mess… behind her.

But what she – urgently – needed even more, she realized, was to figure out how to deal with her growing inner turmoil. _I'm usually better at this… I've been practicing it for so long – denial – and… _

_Avoidance._ She knew how to avoid things… avoid thinking… avoid having time to think… avoid feeling… She'd throw herself into her job, challenge herself mentally, keep moving physically... _And it's not working this time. _

Thoughts, memories, feelings kept popping into her head, unbidden, unannounced, and unwelcome, as she ardently tried to avoid them. And now she found herself forced to try to make sense of what was going on in her mind.

She had mastered the art of appearing tough, having figured out the protection it could afford her at an early age. Even at ten – her quick mind had unconsciously grasped the advantages and she had figured out how to do tough. And since it had worked so well for her growing up, she had passed that tidbit of information on to 13-year-old Kayla… "You've gotta decide right now – whatever they throw at you, you're not going to let them beat you."

_But a four year old. What do you tell a child who's only four?_

Not that she knew much about four-year-olds… only what she had learned yesterday sitting on the floor in front of a closet. And Jordan immediately realized that Owen was too young to be tough. He did, she recognized, need to be protected – not to deal with the harsh reality that his father had been killed.

Or… she thought… as one trick she had used in the past came to mind… she could pretend that she didn't care, build a wall – tall and thick – and hide behind it. Deny any stirrings of feelings she had until she almost believed they didn't exist… then she wouldn't have to deny them quite so vehemently to others. That, she decided, would be the smart thing to do…

XXXXXXXXX

_I ran my fingers through his fine, brown hair to push it back from his face and he relaxed even further into my chest. I noticed that he was clutching two action figures tightly against his own chest. I listened as his breathing slowed, became increasingly steady. I was in no hurry… I waited._

_Nigel was taking pictures and surreptitiously watching us. I smiled at him ever so slightly and he nodded in our direction. I'd become so used to the silence that the sound of Owen's voice, the feel of the rumble against my chest, startled me a bit._ "Who's he?"

_It took me a moment to grasp what he was asking, and once I did I answered, _"Ummm… that's my friend, Nigel."

_Owen nodded and then continued,_ "Does he want to camera me?"

_I couldn't help but smile and I asked Nigel to take a picture of us. He gladly obliged and then wiggled his eyebrows and whispered,_ "Thanks, mate."

_Owen giggled._

_I asked him how old he was and he told me he's not three anymore… he turned four,_ "that other day." _He transferred Superman to the same hand as the other action figure and held up four fingers for me to inspect. His hand was not really delicate, but it was not baby-pudgy, either._

_He told me in a matter-of-fact manner that his daddy won't wake up. I nodded and I tried my best to figure out how to help him deal with that fact. I had no idea what his grandparents believe, or how they'd explain it to him. I wanted to prepare him but I didn't want to say too much… I didn't want to confuse him. So I tried to stick to the "simple" facts and elucidate what was going on behind us. I told him that his grandparents would be able to help him understand more when they got there._

_All Owen wanted to talk about was Superman. And Kryptonite. _

_I'm not up on that super hero stuff. I'm not. So I asked,_ "What's Kryptonite?"

_I detected a patient sigh before Owen instructed me, in a very precise, straightforward manner,_ "Kryptonite takes away Superman's super powers. It makes him just human."

_I was still digesting this information when Owen continued, _"My daddy is brave and strong like Superman."

_I nodded and naively decided to play along,_ "And are you brave like Boy Wonder?"

_He chuckled and gently informed me, _ "Robin is Boy Wonder. And he hangs out with Batman… not Superman… silly head." _He looked up at me for a moment before he continued_, "But I am brave," _he told me, puffing out his chest._

_I assure him softly that I know he is very brave._

"And strong too! Wanna feel my muscle?"_ He asked as he pulled up the sleeve of his pajamas and assumed his best bodybuilder pose. I did my best not to smile, and I must have done an adequate job of admiring his muscle – because he jumped to the next subject…_

"I have Batman… and Robin… in my bedroom. I can get them. I can show you – then you'll know…"

"Maybe later, " _I told him. I pointed out that we were comfortable where we were at the moment and we needed to stay put because the detective might need to talk to us. But deep down I hoped the detective wouldn't need to talk to him. Deep down I hoped Owen hadn't seen anything – hidden away as he was at the back of the closet. I hoped…_

"Who's this?" _I asked, indicating the red-clad action figure he was clutching along with Superman. I lightly fingered the white cape with the golden flower-like pattern along the left side._

"He's the Big Red Cheese," _he laughed and I recognized an inside joke when I heard it._

"I've never heard of him before… are you sure…"

_He giggled…_ "Well, that's 'cause his real name is Captain Marvel. He's daddy's favorite super hero. Know why?"

"Nope, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

_Owen nodded dramatically,_ "'Cause he's always nice and he's always happy and… you know what else?"

_I shook my head slightly as Owen continued,_ "…'Cause he's a bigger boy scout than Superman. That's what my daddy says."

_He began to make a move so that he could see what was going on behind us. I needed to distract him… _"And Kryptonite… does that take away Captain Marvel's super powers, too? Like Superman?" _I asked, confident that I was finally catching on._

_The roll of his eyes told me I was oh, so wrong._ "No, no… He's already human. He's a kid… really… and he turns into Captain Marvel when he says SHAZAM!"

"He does, huh?"

"Yeah, and he gets wicked cool super powers from all these guys that are SHAZAM! I'm not sure who they are… but they are wicked good."

_I detected movement behind us and continued to try to keep his mind off what was going on,_ "I like your pajamas."

"Yeah," _he nodded._ "Toy Story… Daddy broke the rule this night."

"He did? What rule is that?" 

"The rule about no DVDs after a bath. He said it would be okay – we just can't do it all the time. We watched Toy Story… just like these guys on my pajamas."

"You like that show?"

"Yep," _he confirmed._

"What do you like best about that show?" _I asked._

"The aliens," _he answered quickly,_ "and Sheriff Woody," _he added._

_I asked why that was and he educated me that the aliens are funny and that Sheriff Woody is a good guy who looks out for everyone… not just himself._

"I know a detective named Woody," _I told Owen absently,_ "and he's a good guy who looks out for everyone, too."

_He was quiet for a while and then he asked, _"What's a detective?"

_I explained that a detective is a police officer who investigates things and catches bad guys._

_His eyes grew wide and he asked,_ "Can I meet Detective Woody?"

_I told him I couldn't make any promises, but that I'd work on it._

"Does Detective Woody have a gun?" _Owen asked innocently._

"Yes, he carries a gun. But…"

_He rushed on before I could continue,_ "Superman and Captain Marvel don't need guns. And Sheriff Woody lost his. But the bad man… the bad man that hurt my daddy… he had a gun."

_I groaned inwardly. I was afraid to ask, but I did anyway,_ "Owen, how do you know the bad man had a gun?"

_He knew, he told me, because he saw it after he heard the big noise and peeked out of the closet._ "I wasn't even scared when I heard the big noise because my daddy was there and my daddy always knows what to do."

_I motioned to Nigel to come close and when he did I asked him to let the detective in charge know what Owen had told me. Unfortunately, I realized, the detective would probably have to try to talk to Owen after all._

XXXXXXXXX

_The smart thing to do…_ she reminded herself as she stood now over the body putting the finishing touches on the sutures. The body would soon be ready to be turned over to the family. That was it… once that was done she would be finished with this whole… mess.


	3. Just Human

**Blame It on the Super Hero**

**Chapter 3: Just Human**

_I never get tired of watching Jordan work. Blimey, I never get tired of watching Jordan. And the longer I know her… all the more fascinating. There's always been something raw, natural, untamed about her… and yet she's more traditional than one would ever imagine._

_Right now as I watch her, however, I have a growing sense of foreboding. There's something going on with our girl… something I can't put a finger on… yet. _

_I first noticed this… the beginnings of her… detachment… shortly after we returned from that crime scene. At first I just chalked it up the aftermath of her discovering the tyke… Owen… hiding in the closet. I watched her with the boy as I was busy snapping the pictures we needed – and I admit, I was amazed by the rapport she developed so quickly with the little guy. I wasn't at all surprised – mind you – but I have a feeling I'd be in the minority there._

_Now I'm beginning to fear there's a lot more to her growing disaffection. And I can't shake the feeling that this is going to be, at best… **one of those cases**. I refuse to take that mental journey toward the worst-case scenario… because I'm just too comfortable with her here – relatively stable – in my life. _

_Until this case… well – this was the most settled I've ever seen her. And I haven't seen her brood like this since… well… I'd rather not think about it. _

_She's so different now… and things around here are so different for her now… so much changed for Jordan after the riot, after that toy airplane was found in the alley… after Lu's death. Most of the detectives she works closely with these days have finally learned to trust Jordan's intuition – and to give her room. Her insight has always lent to better forensics – small details that would normally be overlooked… little things that could indicate a totally different conclusion than if the obvious line of reasoning was followed. No matter how inconvenient._

_Having proved her capability time and time again, most of the homicide detectives these days just hang on, forensically speaking, and let the lady lead. Most, but not all. A certain blue-eyed Wisconsin native still gives her a hard time… often. I'm not sure what that means… never have been. And that's one thing that **hasn't** changed about Jordan – no one is ever really certain what is going on with her and her detective "friend."_

_Ahhh, Woodrow. He is, in fact, the reason I am standing here watching her through the glass in the door of Autopsy One. I just got off the phone with said detective…_

_Jordan hasn't seen me yet as she meticulously finishes the closure of the Y-incision. Her mind is obviously far away from here. A noisy entrance is in order – to keep from startling her. _

_I smile at her and, when she finally looks up, she returns the smile._ "Brutal," _I observe as I approach the table._

_Jordan nods in response._

"He fought hard," _I say, indicating the abused body._ "How long do you figure he… Owen… was in that closet? Before you found him?"

"Based on the estimated TOD, his daddy must have ushered him in there around midnight."

"And we arrived… Wow, that's a long time for a little bloke to be hunkering in there… terrified."

_Jordan nods again._

_I watch her as discreetly as possible for a few minutes. She looks tired. And I realize she's been consumed by this case since we picked up the body. I wonder whether she has even gone home. Or whether she slept on the couch in her office as she had at one time been wont to do… **but not in such a long time.** Urgh… I just cringe at the thought of some of the more unsettled aspects_ _of her personality returning. I hesitate before I ask,_ "What's going on with you, luv?"

_She answers me with raised eyebrows so I continue,_ "Your mood… this isn't just about… this…" _I say, waving my hand to take in the carnage_.

_She shrugs but doesn't answer so I press,_ "There were prints, Jordan. There was DNA. The police have a suspect."

_Again she nods absently and her next question confirms to me that this is not simply about the noble pursuit of justice._ "Where's his wife? Owen's mother? Did Lily…?"

_I groan inwardly – realizing I have no idea what she is thinking... and dreading how very complicated this could become._ _Like chasing the owner of phantom prints… And if history repeats itself, she won't let us in… let me in. Not until she's ready… and she could be on the other side of the country by then._

_I nod, watching her closely as I speak,_ "Not in the picture. She left. When Owen was a baby. His dad was raising him – with the help of his parents… Owen's grandparents."

"She left?" _Jordan repeats flatly, her voice barely audible. _"Now he's lost both of his parents."

"It seems Owen spent a lot of time with his grandparents. They took care of him when his dad worked. They've been… they _are_ a big part of his life_." I hope this tidbit comforts her… even just a little._

"Then he'll be taken care of – people who know him… people he knows. People who love him." _She smiles at me, but the look in her eyes is almost… haunted._

"Right, luv. He'll… he's in good hands."

_Pulling herself from her reflection, she looks up at me. _ "Did you need something, Nige?"

"A call came in. The detective asked for you," _I begin apologetically._

"Oh."

"You want me to take it? I can get Bug…" _I offer_.

"No. No… I'll just…" _She seems to struggle with what to do next._

"I'll take it, Jordan. You haven't been home since… You finish up here. Then go home and get some rest."

_Jordan starts to protest, but stops. _"Thanks, Nige," _she sighs and glances at me sheepishly._

_I turn to leave the room but pause just long enough to look back at her one more time and add in my best attempt at an admonishing tone, _"I'll see you **_in the morning_**." 

XXXXXXXXX

He found himself – again – wondering if she was avoiding him… again. He had requested her and yet, it was Bug he saw getting out of the van. And it was Nigel who was walking in his direction.

And he didn't know why he was even thinking this way. Everything had been good between them for quite a while. Easy. Undemanding. Comfortable. _Without passion_ he chided himself But he hadn't seen her in a few days – he'd called, she'd called… they kept missing each other. _It happens that way sometimes_… he kept telling himself. But there was no doubt that an unexplained uneasiness was growing…

He shouldn't care – he reprimanded himself. In an hour or so he'd be off work… showered… and on his way to pick up Darcy, the hot redheaded receptionist who Renee had recently hired. An evening on the town with an attractive woman should go a long way toward getting his mind off a certain dark haired medical examiner.

And then… this weekend – two full days off. And he'd promised himself a relaxing respite at a quaint, quirky, secluded inn.

"What have we got, Woodrow?" Nigel asked as he approached.

Reading from his notes, he gave Nigel a quick rundown as he stepped to the side to let the lanky Brit access the body.

"Where's Jordan?" Woody asked as nonchalantly as possible while he watched his friend work.

"She was in the middle of an autopsy when I left the morgue," the criminalist replied without looking up. "This case she's working seems to have her all tied up," he added vaguely.

Woody rolled his eyes and Nigel heard him groan. "So, what's new?"

"Yeah," Nigel chuckled mirthlessly, glancing up at the detective. "Just Jordan being Jordan," he quipped, attempting unsuccessfully to keep the apprehension he was feeling out of his voice and wondering if the detective could have something to do with Jordan's current moodiness. _It wouldn't be the first time…_

Woody studied him for a moment. "What's that supposed to mean, Nigel?"

"Not a thing, Woodrow." He stood lithely and began to move in the direction of the van.

Woody grabbed his arm to stop him. "What's going on? What's up with Jordan?" He searched Nigel's eyes for any indication of what he wasn't revealing.

"Not a thing, Detective. Our girl is fine. Just working too hard… but that's what she does when…" he shrugged. "That's what she does."

Woody studied him. "That's what she does when **_what_**, Nige?"

Nigel faced him, unflinching. He didn't remember seeing Woody in the morgue in the last day few days… _so he couldn't have anything to do with Jordan's increasing remoteness… right?_ "When's the last time you saw her, talked to her, mate?"

The detective looked away briefly and seemed to be searching for the answer. "Ummm… a few days ago? Maybe a week. O'Hannity case."

Nigel's smile was lopsided, "Oh."

"Oh, what?"

"What did you talk about? The O'Hannity case?"

"Yeah."

"Then she hasn't talked to you… about anything other than a case?" Nigel's gaze was penetrating.

Woody shook his head slightly, "No. No. I've called… she's called. We keep missing each other."

"It must not be you," Nigel mumbled under his breath.

The dumbfounded detective stood speechless for a moment. Then, "What the…?"

"Never mind," Nigel smiled, beginning to move away and breaking the grip Woody had on his arm. "It's just been a long day… and there doesn't seem to be a rush for this one. Is tomorrow okay for the prelims?" He stopped and looked back at the detective.

Woody studied him momentarily, assessing their exchange. When he realized Nigel was not going to give him any more information, he responded dully, "Yeah, sure." And quietly signed without thinking, "I'm off in an hour anyway."

Nigel watched the color rise in Woody's cheeks. "Hot date?" he leered.

"You could say that," Woody smirked back, looking quite uncomfortable.

And Nigel noticed that the smile didn't reach his friend's eyes. "You two, then, you and Jordan – you really have imploded?"

He recognized Nigel's question from the conversation he had with Jordan after Vegas Boy McCoy and Delinda visited the morgue. "I wouldn't say that. Not really," Woody stammered to correct him. "We've both matured… moved on… started dating other people."

"I've heard…"

"We've agreed that workplace romances don't work." Woody smiled, eyes twinkling, "We're… _friends_."

"I know. I've seen that," Nigel conceded. And he had. The easiness, camaraderie between his two friends was the best he had seen it in… well, ever.

"That's it then… anything more than friendship is over between you two?"

Woody looked away and replied distantly, "I've made mistakes… we've both done things… it's just where we are right now." He shrugged and looked back at Nigel. "I haven't given up but… I won't push, either. It doesn't work." He ran his fingers through the back of his hair, "I've… I've done what I can, Nige. It's really up to her now."

"Ahhh, I see," Nigel observed lightly, "now you find yourself waiting on the lady."

"Not like it's the first time," Woody's smile was lopsided. And Nigel didn't miss the detective's sigh.

_Maybe Woody doesn't have anything to do with Jordan's current mood. But if not the Detective… who? Or what? _

Nigel couldn't help himself. He tried. But with the unexpected unearthing of this newest morsel… and being the curious creature he was – he just had to know. "So you're really dating then… anyone I know?"

Woody blushed but offered no response.

"Or are you just keeping the dance card filled to satisfy the old libido?" The tone of Nigel's voice was teasing.

Woody's face turned a deeper shade of red.

"Ahhh – I see… you've taken those… ummm… needs… elsewhere." Nigel managed the slightest smile and their gazes locked. It was Woody who looked away first.


	4. Just Friends

**Blame It on the Super Hero**

**Chapter 4: Just Friends**

_The light in Jordan's office is on, it's after midnight, and I can't keep from groaning as I stop at the door and peek my head in._ "I thought we agreed you were going home. **Last night.**" _I emphasize the last two words hoping to make a point._

"Paperwork," _she smiles from behind the stacks of files in front of her._

"Delay," _I toss back knowingly as I move into her office to sit on the couch facing her. _ "Come on, Jordan. What is it? What's bothering you? And don't tell me it's just this case… What exactly is going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

_I watch her shift uncomfortably in her chair before she offers,_ "It's nothing, Nigel… really… it's just… well, you _know_ it's harder when kids are involved."

_I nod but I'm totally unconvinced. _"Okay… yeah… right_…" I continue to watch her as she distractedly pages through a stack of photographs. _

_I don't want to be a helpless bystander this time. Last time I watched her remoteness grow… watched her pull away… and not fully comprehending what was happening – I said nothing. Not this time. _"Jordan?"

_She looks up at me,_ "Yeah, Nige?"

"You know you have friends here… right? If you need anything… if you need to talk…"

_She smiles, her eyes shining._ "Yeah, I do… and… thanks, Nigel."

_I stand up to leave and then I remember,_ "By the way, that pick-up last night was for Woody." _I watch her closely._

"Oh?" _is her only response._

"He asked about you."

"Oh." _Her eyes are guarded and her expression reveals nothing._

_This is getting me nowhere. _"What's going on with you two?"

"Nothing," _comes the quiet reply as she pretends to study one of the photographs._

"That's obvious – but, why? The on-again-off-again has imploded? Again?" 

"I guess… we're friends. It's finally comfortable. But anything else…" _she shrugs._ "He's moved on."

"Do you really think so, luv?" _I inquire, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice._

"What are you saying?"

_I can tell that I have her interest._ "Just that sometimes appearances can be deceiving." _Still her expression betrays nothing._ "When's the last time you two _talked_?"

"Ummm, it was shortly after Lu's death. We hang out occasionally, but that's the last time we really talked."

_I nod to let her know I understand._ "But you're going to change that soon?"

_Jordan studies me, _"Why?"

"I just wonder… it seems there's more between you two than you'll admit – to each other… or yourselves.

"We _are_ just _friends_, Nigel."

_I wag my eyebrows at her._ "If that's what they call it now."

_She rolls her eyes at me and for some reason I find that reassuring._

"**We**, Jordan, are _just_ _friends_," I motion with my hand at the space between us. "You and Woody are not _just friends_… and you haven't been for quite some time."

_Picking up a photograph of the crime scene of Owen's father's murder from her desk, I examine it absently._ "You know, luv, _friends_ are not perfect." _I look at her without raising my head. _ "At least 'perfect' wasn't in the job description when I applied."

_I look up now and smirk at her._ "We're not all good at everything… we have our flaws… our limitations… if you will," _I continue, tapping the photograph against my open palm and then stop to study it again... the picture is of the Superman figure._ "Even super heroes, Jordan, aren't good at everything… you know? They have their areas of expertise… their more developed super powers."

"Yeah?" _She is smiling a purely Jordan smile._ "And what, may I ask, are your super powers?"

"Oh… no, luv, I'm not the super hero type." _I smile at her impishly._ "I've always fancied myself a sidekick." _I toss the photograph back on top of the stack on her desk and glance over at the picture she has in front of her. It's one she had me take of her and Owen… and it suddenly occurs to me…_

"_Jordan – what did you and Owen talk about?" _

_She seems lost in the photograph as she answers_, "Mostly it was Super Hero 101," _she offers. Then she looks _up at me, "Hey, Nige – do you know anything about Captain Marvel?"

"You mean the super hero fans affectionately refer to as the Big Red Cheese?"

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," _she laughs. That sound is music to my ears._

"He's also been referred to as the world's mightiest mortal, Captain Whitebread, and, mistakenly – as SHAZAM... which is actually the word that teenage Billy Batson uses to turn into the super hero. He is known for his always-sunny disposition and pure heart. And is… Why do you ask, luv."

"I should have known." _Jordan is still laughing as she hands the photograph to me._

_I notice – for the first time – the second super hero figure – red-clad, white caped – that Owen is clutching._ "I see… so you really did get a lesson on super heroes."

_She nods her head saying,_ "I had no idea there was so much… so many different…" _She shrugs._

"And like I said earlier, luv… they're all different… different talents… different weaknesses."

"But they all fight evil… one bad guy at a time."

_I nod at her observation as I hand her back the photo, and then I plead, _"Now… _Go home, Jordan_. Get some rest… _please_."

XXXXXXXXX

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud…

_I need to find another source of aerobic exercise. It's that simple._

Thud, thud, thud…

_Every time I've run this week, she's been here… with me… in my head. _

_Urgh… it's not only running. Last night… my first date with that hot… sweet… willing… redhead. Dinner… a moonlit walk… dancing…_

_And Jordan… was everywhere. Everywhere I went… watching… everything I did… in my head.._.

_On Darcy's doorstep… leaning in… for a goodnight kiss… her eyes closed… her lips full – waiting – inviting… the look on her face… expectant…_

_And I kissed her on the forehead._

_Shocked... She was… shocked. I was shocked. But it was all I could do… with Jordan in my head._

_I just can't seem to shake her… Jordan… no matter how hard I try._

_And I try… I really… really… try. But… not really._

_It's not her fault... _

_She's been – perfect… the perfect friend… the perfect work partner… with perfect manners… _

_And her perfect body…_

Thud, thud, thud…

_It's not her. It's me. I'm not finished yet. I don't want it to stop here…_

_And last night… hell, every time I go out on a date these days… I feel like I'm being… unfaithful._

_Unfaithful! To what? A memory? What might have been? An "if only"?_

_A woman who professes to be my friend… is my friend… my best friend. But looks at me with… so much more… than… friendship._

_Or is that just me… my overly active imagination…_

_No, this…_

He began to take note of the stirrings in his physical being. And to try willing the awakenings of certain parts of his body to dissipate. Thud, thud, thud…

…_this isn't just my imagination._

_Maybe if I tried talking to her._

Thud, thud, thud…

_Unfortunately, right now… what I feel… I feel like doing a lot of things… with her. Talking… not high on the list._

_Okay, okay… I give… I can't keep doing this._

_I need to get home – shower – finish packing – take that drive I promised myself._

Thud, thud, thud…

_Littleton Village… Quaint… Secluded… Quirky…_

_Without Jordan…_

Thud, thud, thud…

_Why was it I ever thought that was a good idea?_


	5. I've Been Thinking

**Blame It on the Super Hero**

**Chapter 5: I've Been Thinking**

He wasn't the responding detective. This wasn't his case. But, in her mind it all wove together – so many things eventually came back to him… to them. They always did. And that is why she found herself on his doorstep at 6 am that Saturday morning after finishing the autopsy… after immersing herself in the case… for days.

She recounted in her mind each of the injuries inflicted upon Owen's daddy by his assailant. The final, fatal damage was a gunshot wound – not to the abdomen. Not imposed by armor piercing bullets. With no Kevlar involved. It had been a bullet through his heart, at point blank range.

The result of the horror of the past few days was that she needed to see him… to be with him. But she realized as she stood outside his apartment door trying to build up the courage to knock that she has no idea what to say to him.

The dysfunction of their personal affiliation had grown to legendary proportion. Unsure where to pick up their relationship after he helped to clear her of J.D.'s murder… after Lu's death… they just continued on. As if nothing had happened… as if there was nothing between them_. Actually_, she mused, _it isn't at all uncomfortable – this "thing" between us. In fact, if anything – it has become too comfortable._

But, just like the kiss they shared in the California desert all those years ago, she had a feeling something would eventually happen that would pull her safety net woven of denial, procrastination, and fear out from underneath her. And she was almost certain that _this_ was it.

Finally garnering the courage, she raised her hand to knock – just as she heard the thud, thud, thud of quickened steps on the stairwell. In a moment, the subject of her musings was standing in front of her and his blue eyes were boring into her honey-colored ones.

"Hey, Woods," she stammered faintly.

"Hey, yourself." He flashed her a dimpled grin. "What… what brings you out this early?"

"Late," she interjected, returning a smile.

"Ahhh, you've worked an all nighter." He surveyed her knowingly as he wrestled the key from his pocket and stepped past her to insert it into the lock. "Well – I'm afraid you've caught me…"

"Bad time," she acknowledged, quickly moving away from him and toward the stairwell feeling tremendously relieved. _Out of your hands, it's out of your hands. You did what you could…_

His fingers gently but firmly grasping her biceps brought her to a halt. "Don't go," he implored. "Give me a couple minutes to shower. I…" He detected her slight nod and then continued, "Have breakfast with me?"

"All right, Woody," she acquiesced and he moved them into his apartment, his hand still holding her as if he was afraid to let go, and closed the door behind them. Her nearness and the memory of the reflections he had recently been trying to suppress ganged up on him and he once again found his mind fighting his body's unbidden arousal.

He went into the kitchen to start the coffee machine. "The coffee won't take long," he said, moving toward his bedroom. "I'll be out in just a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable," he finished, watching her carefully – trying to gauge whether she would still be there when he returned.

Jordan considered him as he moved, a bit anxiously… even stiffly… if she wasn't mistaken, toward his bedroom. A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and Woody noticed that her eyes sparkled mischievously. "It's all right, Woody. I'll be here when you… ummm… finish. I promise."

Woody nodded curtly, not trusting his voice, and turned to walk into his bedroom. He hoped the awkwardness of his movement wasn't as apparent as it felt. And he was grateful that the shower would be a quick one… no need to wait for the water to heat up. This shower would be decidedly cold.

XXXXXXXXX

**Jordan: **

She had not been prepared for the effect his physical closeness had on her body. However, she was pretty sure the attraction had been reciprocated. There had been a telltale caution with which Woody moved as he exited the living room. She smiled at the probability, grabbed a steaming cup of coffee, and settled on Woody's couch to wait.

The little metal robots standing watch over his living space were reassuring in their familiarity. She looked around the room and unconsciously pulled her feet up underneath her and relaxed further back into the upholstery. It was then that she noticed he had left the bedroom door ajar, and next that she caught sight of the partially packed suitcase laying open on the bed. _I wonder what exactly I've interrupted… and why I didn't know he's leaving town. Maybe… Though he did seem happy to see me_, she grinned to herself.

_Don't… just… don't think about it_, she willed herself. Because if she thought about it – what they had become – she had to admit that it made her sad at the very least, and more precisely scared the hell out of her. They had built their on-the-surface friendly relationship to deal with the worlds of hurt that neither of them were willing to delve into.

In the past they had been each other's biggest fan and sometimes served as the other's unwitting nemesis.

Now they both contended they had each moved on. They were only colleagues, cohorts who knew each other well enough to be partners and push each other's buttons – frequently. But since they had "grown up" – their interactions contained less… all right… contained _no_ passion.

They were buddies, companions, friends, bookends – on opposite ends of the bookshelf. Who knew each other too well to be acquaintances. Who convinced themselves they cared for each other too much to be lovers. It was easier this way.

They had contemplated a relationship – one last time after J.D.'s death and Woody's unwavering support of her… one last time after Lu's death and her unwavering support of him… but when all was said and done, she couldn't go there. And so she had pulled away… again. She rebuilt the wall to hide behind… to protect her… to protect him. Now she was again keeping him purposely at bay. _For his own good_, she told herself. She didn't deserve him. She would only cause him more pain.

Their current working relationship was to be envied. They complimented each other perfectly – yin and yang – and could walk away seemingly unaffected and adamantly unattached at the end of the day. They still did lunch, went out for pizza and a movie, and enjoyed an occasional run together. They shared drinks – and had even been dancing – at a nightclub. But not slow dancing. She assumed he reserved that for the women he dated now. And, from what she heard, there were many – attractive – available – willing – women.

_He's a catch_, she had to admit. The years had been good to her fresh-faced farm boy with above average looks. And now that he had stopped waiting for her, he had become… well… popular. They had bumped into the evidence of his allure on a couple of occasions when they were out together – she didn't know the women who approached them, but they certainly seemed to know Woody. She imagined the abundance of options he had to warm his bed. She knew of at least two trips to Las Vegas he had taken and was not kidding herself that he hadn't gone to rekindle the flames with Sam. And try as she might, she just couldn't be happy for him.

Her heart she kept well protected these days. And since his shooting, Woody no longer wore his heart on his sleeve. _Now I… Woody… both of us_, she resigned, _are practiced at stuffing feelings_. And uncertain of what else to do, she just kept going, being herself. Finding her causes. Avoiding her true feelings, her real issues. Pouring her passion into her work and living on the surface so she didn't have to face the stirrings of her heart.

Until Superman…

XXXXXXXXX

**Woody:**

His mind was in a whirl as he stepped into the cool spray of the shower. What was she doing here? _Be careful what you wish for…_

At first, right after he helped clear her of Pollack's murder… followed so quickly by Lu's death… they had been civil, careful, tentative – leaving any suggestion of underlying feelings out of their encounters. Gradually they began working together – better and better all the time. They really didn't fight anymore. There was no need – there was no passion between them. If they disagreed, which was often – they agreed to disagree. The facts of the cases would eventually sort themselves out and the clashes of her indomitable intuition and his blind logic would often meet in the middle… or a smidgeon closer to her side… and all would be well.

He had, he accepted, finally stopped trying to save her – from the world, from herself, from him. Being shot, almost not being able to walk… run… again – and the anger, confusion, belligerence that ensued – had eventually, painstakingly clarified things for him. Well, that… and the violent deaths of Pollack… of Lu… He couldn't save her. Hell, he had trouble even trying to save himself.

He just pretended – as he had done for so long – and presented to the world the outward face he wanted everyone to see. Layer upon layer of carefully crafted persona sheltered the real him that he wasn't even sure he would recognize any more.

And now she was waiting for him, _hopefully_, in his living room. Hadn't he been hoping for another chance with her? He wondered if that's what this would be – or if there was another reason for her unannounced but not unwelcome visit.

Finishing his shower, he quickly dried off and pulled on a faded pair of blue jeans and the blue shirt that (quite a few) women had told him they found appealing. He also donned his most optimistically guarded attitude as he reentered the living room to find Jordan Cavanaugh asleep on his couch.


	6. Confessions

**Blame It on the Super Hero**

**Chapter 6: Confessions **

He watched her sleep. Sipping his coffee and relaxing in the chair across the room – it struck him anew how beautiful she was. And he realized at the same time how withdrawn he really had become.

It had started with Cal – one disappointment too many and Woody turned his back, pushed his brother away… because Cal's actions had almost cost Bug, his friend, his life… and Cal's actions had put _her_ in danger. At that time… a lifetime ago now, it seemed – he couldn't – didn't want to ever – imagine his life without Jordan.

But then she offered up one disappointment too many and he did the same to her… after he was shot… after she confessed her love for him. He told her to get out. He told her that her words didn't change anything. He pushed her away so that he could move on and eventually learn to stop feeling… anything… for her. It hadn't worked.

One night of unplanned, unparalleled passion… a breakup with her lover… his uncertainty… a new lover for him… and he realized how much he missed her. Then came J.D. Pollack's murder… He knew her – knew she was innocent – even if she wasn't convinced herself. And he crossed the line his lover had drawn – finally acknowledging that what she, Lu, said was true… He _would_ do anything for Jordan.

In the aftermath of Pollack's murder and her vindication… in the aftermath of Lu's tragic death… he knew he needed to give "them" time. He told Jordan he'd wait if she wanted him to. She hadn't known what she wanted and told him she'd understand if he moved on. He'd replied, "As you wish."

_But appearances can be deceiving_; he smiled to himself. He had a pretty good idea what she thought – that his current dating life was copious… which was true enough. But she didn't need to know that he stopped at first base these days… because he never brought his heart along on any of these interludes.

They had somehow managed to salvage a friendship – and it was comfortable. But try as he might, he just wasn't ready to move on without her. Like that almost kiss on the rooftop in Los Angles, he hoped circumstance would throw them together and give him another chance with the lady. Like at the Lucy Carver Inn…

He shifted in his chair and Jordan opened her eyes, groggily glancing around the room until their gazes met.

"How long was I out?" Her voice was heavy with the sleep she was coming out of.

"Not long," he said softly. "Are you sure you're up to breakfast?"

She sat up, swinging her feet to the floor, "Sure, I'm starved."

XXXXXXXXX

It was the equalizing moments like this… walking down the street together, or moving around a crime scene… that he had come to appreciate. She would link her arm in his, allow him to hold her loosely around the waist, or walk closely beside him with his hand on the small of her back. He reveled in the innocent, undemanding, familiar nearness of her.

And yet, the nearness of her increased the ache in his being when he stopped to realize all the possibilities of what they were missing.

Arriving at a neighborhood diner, they sat down to breakfast, enjoying their customary banter and marveling at the ease of their genuine camaraderie. Woody was certain that this uncomplicated exchange wasn't the reason for her Saturday morning visit, and he feared that this mood would come to an abrupt end as the expectation for _real_ conversation ensued. Gradually it dawned on him that what he feared more, though, was that she would leave without engaging in that _real_ conversation he was convinced she had come for. And somehow he knew he couldn't let that happen this time…

With breakfast finished, a lull in the dialogue offered Woody an opening, "This is nice, Jo. But I get the feeling there's more to this… visit… than just small talk."

Jordan glanced at him sideways. "Always the detective."

"Stop teasing," he grinned. "What's up Jordan?"

"Let's walk?" she offered with uncharacteristic diffidence.

He nodded, tossing a few bills on the table and staying her hand as she began to reach into her purse. "I've got it," he told her as he slipped out of the booth and held out his hand for her to take.

Jordan smiled, he noticed, and slipped her hand into his without hesitation. Woody breathed softly in relief and wonder.

As they stepped out of the diner he noted the beautiful, mild, spring day and enjoyed walking beside her for a few minutes before he finally forced himself to ask again, "What brings you… here… this morning?"

Noticing they had wandered into a park, she motioned to a nearby bench and as they both sat down she began, "It's this case, Woody…"

She heard him groan softly, mostly inwardly, "It always is, Jordan." He glanced over at her, smiling. "What is it? Breaking and entering didn't work for you this time? Or do you need someone to play the game?"

She missed neither the light-hearted teasing nor the disappointment in his tone, and she was a little taken aback by the realization of the possibility of how he felt when she called on him like that.

"I'm sorry, Woody." Her eyes fell to their entwined fingers and her voice was barely audible.

"For what, Jordan?" he asked, truly bewildered.

"That you would think those are the only reasons I would come to you – to…" She shook her head slightly. "Never mind."

She was silent for a few moments as she came to terms with the fact that he wasn't far off the mark. She had called on him – used him – to unravel some of her more perplexing puzzles. Now she grappled with the awareness that he thought it was really all about solving the mysteries, about work… when in her reality it was more often than not her way of feeling close to him.

Woody waited, patiently studying her as myriad emotions flitted across her face. "It's all right, Jordan… it's me. What's going on?"

"It was a home invasion robbery. The victim… he tried to…"

"He fought back. Got killed." He didn't ask, he knew.

"Point blank gunshot wound to the heart."

Woody nodded as he processed the information and waited for her to continue.

"We found an action figure… Superman… under the body when we turned him over."

Again, Woody nodded and searched her eyes for some indication of what was going on in her head.

"He was you," she murmured.

Woody smiled faintly, "Superman? He was a reporter, Jordan. I think you have me confused with your Aussie boyfriend." He saw her wince slightly. Evidently J.D. Pollack was still a touchy subject… for both of them.

This wasn't where she had been going with this. Though she was a little surprised at the sudden coolness of his voice and the sting of the words – he had set the course and she wouldn't be deterred. And Superman was one super hero she knew at least a little about. "That's arguable, Woods," she began softly. "Superman… Clark Kent… was mild mannered," her eyes bored unflinchingly into his as, to his chagrin, she continued, "seemingly innocent and uncomplicated, apparently what-you-see-is-what-you get… with nothing to hide."

"But he wasn't really." It was a statement and a question.

"Right." She smiled at him warmly, "Sound familiar?"

The grin he offered back to her was the kind that lit up his eyes. He asked with mock innocence, "What are you implying here, Jordan?"

"Implying? Why, nothing, Woody. I'm just saying…"

"What, Jordan? What are you 'just' saying?" His grin got bigger if that was possible.

"Well, _I have_ heard you referred to as "Boy Wonder." she offered.

His eyebrows raised, he laughed, "You're mixing your super heroes, Jordan."

"So I've been told. Well, they're all the same to me," she responded dismissively.

"Actually, I prefer to think of myself as Captain Marvel… refreshing boyish innocence, down-to-earth charm…"

Jordan looked at him with surprise and mumbled, "Yeah, you would… Boy Scout."

"What was that, Jo?"

"Never mind."

"Okay, okay," he sat back further on the bench and continued to observe her. "So, I'm… Superman?"

"No," she shook her head ever so slightly. "That's not where I was going with this. It wasn't the… The action figure, Superman, belonged to his… the victim's little boy."

"He was there?"

At her nod Woody groaned, "I'm so sorry, Jordan."

"Owen… the four year old boy… was hiding in the closet. He lost his toy… action figure… in the chaos – when his father was trying to hide him," she continued vaguely. "And his father fell on top of it… on top of Superman. That's how we found the boy – because he spotted his toy."

There was silence between them and he brushed her hair back from her shoulder with his free hand. "What's this about, Jordan?"

Woody watched as she collected her thoughts and anticipated a change in the direction of the conversation before she continued. "I was only ten."

"Yeah, I know," Woody squeezed her hand, knowing instinctively what she was talking about.

The quick, slight shake of her head told him that there was more she needed to say. "Owen is only four… You were only four."

Woody's eyes widened and all he could do was wait for her to continue.

"This case… I haven't been able to shake it… It's made me deal with things I've managed to… avoid. And… I've been thinking..."

"About what?" He gently encouraged her.

"My mother's death – the way my father reacted – that history… good and bad… went into shaping who I am. I don't trust easily…"

"Do tell…" he interjected – without malice, she noticed.

"I have issues…" she acknowledged, "probably always will. But I also came through it with other… talents." She smiled at him as he watched her intently.

"And I really understood – maybe for the first time – that you were only four when you lost your mother. Because Owen is four. And talking to him, listening to him and trying to comprehend what he was thinking… how he was thinking… well… Four is awfully little to lose someone so important. He doesn't even truly know what's happening… And he won't know what he's missing… not really." She met his gaze with an intensity of her own, "He may not even remember…"

"He'll remember some things, Jordan." Woody's voice was pensive. "I do remember some things about her… I remember her perfume." He looked away, across the park, to some children playing in the distance. "And the feeling of her arms around me when she read a story… Helping her to fix pancakes on Sunday morning… Her asking me to take care of Cal." He paused briefly. "And watching my father… at her funeral. He cried – I'd never seen him cry before. It scared me."

"All that… it shaped your future, Woody. Who you became – responsible, reliable, a caregiver…"

He shook his head and chuckled softly. "Nah, I just did what was expected of me."

"You didn't have to," Jordan pressed.

"Yes, I did."

"There, you see – that's what I mean. It is who you became, Farm Boy." He smiled at her use of that name – she hadn't called him that in a long time. He had almost forgotten how it felt… almost… but not quite. He looked into her eyes and what he saw… what he felt… made his heart pound heavily in his chest. And something within him stirred. Suddenly there was newness, a sense of possibility – around them. He realized that once again he felt hope… for them.

He didn't know when they had moved so close to each other… so close. He released her hand that he had been holding and smoothly slipped his arm around her shoulder to pull her even closer. He felt her snuggle into him and peered into her eyes as he moved his lips slowly toward hers. He watched her as her eyes slipped closed and the breath caught in his throat…

The feather-light touch of his fingers against her cheek, the warmth of the sun, just the two of them… expectation hugged tightly around them… as the piercing ring of his cell phone split the emotionally charged air.


	7. The Consequences of Truth

**Blame It on the Super Hero**

**Chapter 7: The Consequences of Truth **

"I'm _not_ on duty," he grumbled. Her eyes were now wide open, expectant. And the tender promise of the moment had been shattered.

"You'd better get that," she muttered pulling back from him. She chuckled nervously as she added, "It sounds important."

"It better be…" he groaned, his misery palpable. She smiled indulgently as he fumbled with the holder at his belt. Flipping the phone open without looking at caller ID, he barked quite impatiently and very ungraciously, "This is Hoyt."

He listened attentively as she watched him, her eyes now shining merrily. She was clearly enjoying his exasperation. Until Woody said into the phone, "No, Nigel, she hasn't." His voice was filled with compassion and she tried to ignore the remainder of the conversation… "Yeah, I'm sure." … "Really… really… it's fine." … "Nigel? Nigel… she's here." … "Yeah. Here." … "With me." … "In the park." … "She's safe." … "It's a long story." … "No, everything is fine… good. Really." … "Yeah, yeah… okay, Nige. I will." … "Okay." … "Yeah, you too." … "'Bye."

Woody flipped the phone closed mumbling to himself, "Déjà vu."

When he looked over at her, she wouldn't meet his gaze. And he was afraid, suddenly, that he was losing ground with her. That whatever headway they had made since he found her waiting for him outside his apartment this morning was slipping away from underneath them.

He reached out and touched her chin with his fingertips, gently turning her to look at him again. Her eyes were closed. Emboldened by their previous conversation, he decided to take a chance; he leaned forward and tenderly brushed her lips with his. When he pulled away, she opened her eyes to look at him.

"Nigel, huh?"

Woody nodded, continuing to watch her, "He was… he couldn't find you. He went to your apartment and you weren't there… and he thought…"

She raised her eyebrows begging him to continue, beseeching him not to continue.

"Nigel thought you'd run," he finished bluntly.

Her smile was so soft it was barely there. "So I gathered." She paused before she added, "He was right, you know."

"You were going to…" he swallowed hard, not able to continue.

Jordan shook her head, "I already have." She leaned back on the bench and closed her eyes again, "Just not in the way he anticipated." She hesitated, "Do you believe what you told him? That everything is good?"

"It is good, Jordan. Not perfect… not yet… but it is good." He put his arm around her again, pulling her closer to him, and whispered into her ear, "And as long as you're here… with me… there's always hope." He kissed the side of her head before he asked, "Where did you run to, Jordan?"

He felt her snuggle closer to him, and then he felt her soft sigh. "Home."

Her head was against his chest now and he couldn't see her face. He wasn't following what she was saying and he wanted to look into her eyes, to figure out if she was teasing him. "But Nigel said he looked for you there. You must have left before he got there?"

He was confused by the slight shake of her head he felt against his chest, but her next words served to confuse him even more and clear everything up – all at once. "Here, Woody. With you. This is home."

"Jordan-"

"Humm?"

His mind was spinning and he was having trouble figuring out what he wanted to know next… and wondering if he really wanted to know anything more – did anything else matter?

They sat in silence for a long while before he asked, "How is he? The little boy… Owen?"

"He's going to be okay, I think." After a pause she added, "He wants to meet you. If you have time… the funeral is Tuesday. You could come with me," she finished softly.

"Why, Jordan?"

"We had a long talk and… he's a big fan of that sheriff from Toy Story."

"Do you have any idea how often I've heard that, Jordan?"

"Well, I told him I know a detective named Woody who is a good guy and looks out for everyone…"

Jordan sat back to look at him and was relieved that he was smiling. "I'll go with you," he affirmed gently. "I can't wait to meet this young man…"

She could tell he had stopped mid sentence. "What, Woody?"

"Who is going to take care of Owen?"

Jordan sensed that this wasn't what he was originally going to say, but she decided not to press and answered his question. "His grandparents… he's spent a lot of time with them. They'll take him… raise him. And I don't think he really understands what happened… that his father is gone."

"The finality," Woody confirmed softly.

Jordan nodded. "That he's not coming back. But he knows that his father – he loved him – he saved him. And now Owen will grow up without his parents… without the continued comfort of knowing how much he is loved by his father." She turned her body slightly to face Woody more directly. "You've never talked much about your dad… about after your mom died…"

Woody nodded, "Like you've never talked much about what happened after… your mom."

His smile was wistful and she lowered her voice, "Even though they had to leave, I realize they gave us what we needed to continue. They loved us… and love is all we have – it is what will finally save us if we let it. Owen's father… our parents – what your parents gave you… what my parents gave me…" She looked into the somber depths of his blue eyes hoping he understood what she was trying to say. "What we can give each other. We're not perfect."

"This whole thing… it wasn't really about the super hero when you get right down to it, was it? It was about the four-year-old boy." His eyes sought confirmation in hers.

"Two four year old boys and a ten year old girl…" she affirmed. "About what we feel for each other… what we can be together…" Jordan reached up to touch his cheek with her fingertips. "I've always figured that if I kept you at bay… just out of reach… at arm's length… maybe you'd always _be_ there. Not as a lover, I've had lovers… they've come and gone. But always as a _true_ friend… something I've never really had before. You have been… you are my one constant. You are my Farm Boy."

"How's that worked for you?" His full dimpled grin elicited an unexpected laugh.

Her smile was lopsided as she continued, "I've spent the past few days just trying to come to grips with how much I care for you – unconditionally. I cared for you whether you were with Lu. I cared for you whether I was with J.D.

I still care for you – and I still want to be there for you… even if you don't want me as anything other than a friend. Even if you've moved on. Even if I've tried to move on."

He took note of her use of the word "tried" but decided against saying anything – yet – he needed to hear what she had to say.

"And this whole thing, you and me… us…" she continued.

"Us?"

She ignored the interruption. "It has become so comfortable…"

"Like a worn in pair of shoes, your favorite comforter, your coziest pajamas – the ones with the ducks," he teased.

She nodded.

"And that's a bad thing?"

"No… and yes…" she sighed.

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head toward her questioningly.

"I could stay here with you like this forever. Except…" She stopped, watching him intently – waiting for another observation. "Aren't you going to say anything?

He shook his head slightly, "I'm listening now, because as well as I know you, Jordan…"

"And can guess my every move?"

"Yeah, something like that…" he chuckled. "As well as I know you, Jo, I've realized I haven't always listened to you. I'm sometimes too busy worrying about what to say, what to do…"

"How to keep us out of trouble?" she smiled at him with her best attempt at innocence.

He acknowledged her interjection with a nod. "That too… But I don't always listen."

"That's not true."

"Unfortunately it is, Jordan... Like the time we went dancing and I walked you to your door. I complained about not getting to second base…" he smirked at her. The next day you asked if I remembered whether you unlocked your door the previous night. I didn't stop to listen to you… I should have clued into that, Jordan – I should have known there was a reason you were asking me that."

"I think you had a certain blonde ME dancing through your head at the time." Her smile was sly and her eyes betrayed a carefully concealed pain.

Woody lowered his gaze and scraped the toe of his shoe against the leg of the park bench, "Guilty as charged."

When he looked back up at her, she smiled beatifically at him and he braced himself at the twinkle in her eye. "Will you listen to me now?" she purred.

With a sharp intake of breath, he nodded without saying anything.

"You need to know… I meant what I said, Woody – the day you were shot." She watched him stiffen and felt him hold her hand tighter. "And my feelings for you have never changed – no matter how hard I tried. I know that I've… we've burned a few bridges with too much water under them. I just hope they're not irreparable."

He didn't answer immediately, and when he did his response was measured. "Don't get me wrong here, Jordan… but why this? Why now?"

"I've been doing a balancing act – you know, walking that tightrope… since… And I think it's time," came her forthright reply.

He studied her intently and forced himself to ask tentatively, "Time for what."

"Time to make decisions. To move forward… or move backward," her voice trailed off. "But to move – one way or the other. I've stayed in one place too long, gotten too comfortable."

"What are you saying, Jordan?"

"You once told me that you have to go where your heart takes you… but that there's danger in that…"

He nodded – feeling again all the uncertainty he felt sitting there waiting for her to push the button to find out whether her friend, Father Paul, had broken his vow of celibacy. "There is…"

"It's taken me a long time, but I'm finally… I've decided to follow my heart."

"Where is your heart taking you, Jo?" She heard the uncertainty in his timbre… and the hope.

"To you… Woody. If it's not too late… if you're willing."

"Too late, Jordan? Why…"

"I know… I've seen you with… I'm just not sure if you're in a relationship. I wouldn't want to…"

His eyes grew wide and she watched him slowly shake his head. "No. No relationship… but… what are you asking? Too late for what?"

"I love you, Woody. And, if you're willing… if you're interested… I'd like to find out where this leads."

"Why, Jordan Cavanaugh…" he smirked at her, "are you coming on to me?"

"Would it work?" was her coy rejoinder.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him, and she noticed how dark his eyes had become, "Like a charm," he sighed.

His lips were tender against hers but not at all tentative. Her body molded willingly into his as their kiss deepened. The world stood still for a few moments and when they pulled apart, they were both breathless.

Woody kissed her gently and then pulled her close again to whisper in her ear, "I love you, Jordan. I think I always have. I know I always will."

"Where do we go from here?" Her voice was husky with promise unfulfilled.

"My place?" he ventured, moving her hair aside and kissing her neck.

She socked him gently in the arm. "I'm serious, Woody," she moaned.

"So am I." The sound of his voice in her ear sent shivers through her.

"Aren't you going to suggest we take it slowly? Proceed carefully?"

"Actually, we have been taking it slow, Jo. You hadn't noticed?" He raised an eyebrow at her and she smiled. "You know, earlier this morning I was wondering what Littleton Village looks like in the spring… without a murder to solve."

"You were, huh?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Would you care to join me?"

"Relive a few memories? Just like old times?" she asked, smiling.

"No," he murmured into her ear. "I would rather make new memories, Jordan. And prove that we can get it right this time."

End


End file.
